is it sick of me
to watch the wicked way you thrill?
She remembers the way the woman spoke to her in her beautiful poetic nonsense. There was something in the way she was shrouded in mystery, playful, and wanting to be close to the fire. The way her gold chains hung down and clinked together with every muscle movement. There was the smell of wood smoke and spices for that short moment, but Morrighan still smells it faintly in the air. She remembers her cheeks getting warm when she realizes she stared at the woman a little too long. Then the closeness of their bodies in that small amount of time. It's confused her ever since and she still does not know what to make of it.
"Someday I'll enlighten you. If you promise to come see me dance," she had said with a smile. Morrighan hasn't forgotten this even with the change of seasons. That is why she finds herself wandering down the market streets to where the dancers perform. At first, she hesitates and feels stupid. Never before did she care about the dancing because it seemed silly and pointless. She'd rather burn things down for entertainment than watching other equines move around.
But - she is nothing if not loyal.
Part of her feels nervous since it's been so long that her and Al'Zahra had first met. It was a brief meeting and, so far, she hasn't seen the mare around Denocte since. Perhaps she learned the ways of stealth from the wolves. Still, she very well could be here tonight up there with the dancers. But, did the other woman care that much? Or did she just say what she did because she could?
Bram falls into step with the mare. He has felt a bit protective of Morr since the altercation at Raum's memorial. She hasn't said much to him since leaving there, but he can tell she appreciates him being there just through their bond (at least, for now). She will never admit this to him and it makes him smile. He can tell she's nervous too, but he knows better than to point this out. The timber wolf is not in the mood to have his fur singed today.
When the Warden finally makes her way through the crowd and to the dancers, her eyes scan through them. They are all lined up and adorned in fancy clothing and accessories. One stands out from the rest and she holds her breath. The long gold chains are recognizable- it's her.
She isn't sure if Al'Zahra's seen her yet, but she takes a spot to watch. It's awkward, but she's content fulfilling her promise. Hopefully the other woman will fulfill her end of it. How funny it'll look to see the elusive wolf sitting right next to Morrighan after all the fuss. He is partially in shadow, but his bright yellow eyes surely won't be missed.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
Tonight, the eve of the harvest, is for being wild. It has been since the dawn of time. And so, because her soul knows how to be as wild as the reeds by the sea, Al'Zahra gives herself over to the savage night with abandon.
There is moonlight pooling liquid silver in her chains until she looks as blessed as anything else in the court of stars. All the firelight burnishes her skin until she's nothing more than a ember pulled free from a flame and given something close to a heart. Around her the other girls are dancing and around them the soldiers are watching with hungry, protective eyes as if there is danger on the outskirts of all of them. She smiles, oh she smiles, and it's like a wolf smiling at sheep as she twists around them and calls herself wind.
Music carries her body onward through the crowd and for a moment, only a moment, she loses herself in the ringing of a bell and the touch of someones lips upon her shoulder. She tells herself she's like jasmine smoke, lovely and soft and dangerous to breathe. And part of her, that savage ancient part, wants them all to choke on it. She's about to press back against those lips against her skin. Between her smile her teeth ache to answer back with violence and gold. Her heart snarls in her chest like a caged thing and the wild, brutal music drives it onward.
There is a flash of yellow at the edge of the crowd, back where the soldiers are watching the sheep dance. Something in her trembles like a nymph begging for the chase, eager to feel the forest sweep her away into hiding. When she turns and dances closer it's still there in her eyes, that hunger and wanting. In the echo of the silver moonlight catching on her skin it looks a little like ferociousness.
The crowd clings to her even as she pulls away, like they all know dancing feels more like freedom when she's twisting between their shadows. Even the firelight doesn't want to let her go for it still pools molten and golden across the last summer shine of her skin. When her teeth flash between her smile the firelight turns them into a pale echo of gold like stars warring against the dawn. “Was your hunt successful then?” She turns her eyes to those golden wolf eyes in the darkness something in her voice seems to suggest that she hopes the answer is no.
Because when she curls her neck like a nymph dawning her flower crown every inch of her body seems to sing in the wild, savage night. It's singing, have you come to hunt me too?
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
Now that she has taken the time to watch the dancers tonight, she slowly realizes how one might find it beautiful. The way the moonlight shines down on their sleek bodies and makes their jewelry sparkle is quite stunning. Their feet stomp to the beat of the drums and their bodies sway to the notes of the music. While Morrighan would never do this herself, she wonders if it gives them the kind of adrenaline rush she gets from the spark of a flame or the success of a hunt.
They are lost to the dance and she doesn't realize she's zoned out until Al'Zahra's voice reaches her ears. The scent of wood smoke and spices fills her nose and the grullo mare is captivated for a moment. She coughs and pulls herself together before she makes herself look more foolish.
Technically, yes, her hunt had been successful. She did finally find the wolf that seemed to be hunting her for the longest time, but part of her still regrets it. It had been nice not having him follow her around so closely, but now it's worse with their bond.
"Yeah, almost too successful. Now he won't leave my side," she answers; her eyes on him are like daggers. The stupid mongrel is looking at her with the most smug grin on his face. Asshole. "Caligo has a shit sense of humor."
She turns to look back at the woman now, noticing some beads of sweat on her neck. Ignoring that, she thinks back again to what the mare said and wonders if she'd remember. "Well, here I am. Care to enlighten me?" she asks, intending it to sound more like a challenge, but her tone is not as rough as she meant it to be. It may be on the cusp of flirting and Morr is very confused. It's like the mare put some kind of spell on her since their first meeting.
The Warden looks away, feeling sheepish. "I guess I don't need you to anymore, but… I still wanted to come." Because she's loyal and a woman of her word. Because she'll do what others ask her to do so long as they're someone she respects. Or finds interesting.
"I have to say, your dancing seems tiring," she says, trying to add some kind of lighthearted joke to the conversation. It's how she truly feels though after watching them. It's a lot of work to put on a show; more work than she realized until tonight. How someone decides to pick up this way of life is beyond her. Maybe they like all eyes on them and the attention. Maybe they like the desire.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
This is a dance she has known since the dawn of time. Every molecule of her body is shifting like soot, light and smoke. Her body feels as if it's nothing more than a tangle of possibilities yearning and aching for the crest of their story. She shivers with the feeling of it-- the sweat, the flame, the spark and the golden glow of hungry eyes at the edge of a crowd. And already each inch of her is wanting for a touch and her hooves are humming with a hundred steps no one knows but her.
She steps closer because she must. There is talk of gods and she's aching and so she must.
“I'm sure Caligo has her reasons.” There is laughter in her voice. Below that there is something close enough to rage and close enough to longing that the two are impossible to unwind. It all comes out like smoke anyway. “Does he have a name?” When she asks something in her unfurls and blooms as brightly as any moon-flower. There is in her look again something wanting, something trembling, something as wild as the leaves burning at the bottom of the fires. Something burning.
Behind her the dance is growing more wild. Mares have their heads tossed back like lions and stallions are dancing between them like tides between the moon and the center of the earth. She can feel the call of it pressing against her skin like a touch. She can feel it urging her to dissolve in the core of it, to become the smoke twisting it all together. When she listens it's closely and when she obeys it starts with a touch to Morrighan's cheek. The touch is soft as a feather and caught between almost-not-there and almost-a-kiss.
Almost. Almost. Almost.
She doesn't say she's glad Morrighan came. She doesn't say anything but, “I can't tell you.”. The look in her eyes is wicked and rimmed in firelight. Each of her chains sounds like a star trembling against the darkness; they sound like falling. “But I could show you.” That sounds like falling too, like Al'Zahra has already tossed her head back to roar like a lion.
The dancers start to touch the edge of their shadows. The dance has grown wild as weeds. To her it seems the only way the night court knows how to do anything, as if it's rabid enough to bite the sky and claim all that blackness like a dying wolf. “And after that I could show you how dancing doesn't tire you out.” She steps closer once more, close enough to trace the space above Morrighan's neck. It's another almost touch, one that promises she knows how to leech every secret from the flames and from the flesh. There is a promise in everything she does.
When she pulls away the crowd seems to rush into the space between them. It's the way the tide rushes the cliffs or the way the leaves rush towards the ground before winter. It's hungry. “I can show you how it makes you feel alive.” And when she presses into the crowd everything from the devilish curl of her lips to the chains singing against her hips seems to chant one song over and over again.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
Something is happening that she can't explain. She feels an urge to back away as the mare gets closer, but the hint of a laugh in her tone pulls her back in. Her voice is like honey and she could listen for so long without growing tired of it. If the woman is a witch, Morrighan has fallen for her spell.
Caligo surely had her way within Morrighan's life, more so than any god or goddess ever had. Still to this day, the Warden isn't sure how she feels about it. There had been a time she didn't believe in any deity, but Novus had changed that.
Next to her, Bram looks like he's about to laugh his ass off and it's likely he can tell how the woman is making her feel. Morrighan shoots him a glare and he simply responds with a toothy grin.
"Bram," she says with a groan, answering the question of her bonded's name. He stays where he is watching the pair and she wishes he'd leave. She will likely never hear the end of this from him after tonight.
Then Al'Zahra brushes her cheek.
All of Morrighan's muscles tense up and she isn't sure what to do. Part of her wants to run, to get away from this and the feelings she can't explain. The ones that make her stomach turn and make her fire burn differently. It feels like there are butterflies in her chest and she has no way of speaking anymore. She hates it and loves it at the same time.
"I can't tell you. But I can show you."
She is caught by the firelight in the woman's eyes and words still do not come forth. Morrighan wants to be shown- but why? Why is she letting this woman change her emotions in such a strong way? Why is she letting herself be so vulnerable?
In these moments, she's letting her win. She wants to feel something more. She wants to feel alive. Like when she used to be able to ignite the biggest bonfire, but somehow, this is more intense. More real. It's as if the dancers feel the same way when their movement becomes more wild.
She didn't think it was possible, but Al'Zahra is close again. The woman touches her neck and it sends Morrighan in for a loop. Her mind is screaming at her. The fire inside of her is lashing out with nowhere to go.
"And after that I could show you how dancing doesn't tire you out." It's suggestive of something and Morr blinks in confusion. Her muscles have not relaxed this entire time. "I…"
Then the woman pulls away and her heart starts to sink.
The crowd is moving and seems to press in closer like a blockade. No no no, come back. Bram is out of view, but she doesn't care, she wants to follow her and she can't understand why.
But, maybe she doesn't have to understand it. Maybe she has to embrace it. Maybe she just has to feel.
Morrighan manages to break through the crowd back to the woman's side. The music has started back up again and she can feel the beat of the drums in her chest. It's pounding almost as hard as her heart, as if to emphasize how it's screaming inside of her. Her mind is a muddled mess of panic, of wanting, of hunger.
And she is dancing. Never in her life did she imagine herself here, but she is. She can feel her muscles starting to relax. And she swears her hip has just touched Al'Zahra's voluntarily.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
At first there is only the crowd pressing in against her like flies and carrion birds. Each time she steps there is another hip, another shoulder, another set of lips pressing into the curl of neck. For a moment there is only the dance, the hunger, the music rolling over them in waves of magic, the weakness of mortal will and want. All her edges beg to dissolve into it, to be the air in their lungs and the magic in their hearts.
Below that her heart, oh her wicked ancient heart, begs her to consume each and every drop of this profane dance.
Someone presses too close, she cannot feel fire beneath their skin like a pulse, and so she answers them with tooth, and hoof, and chanting chain. It feels like scratching an itch, like she's the wolf in a den of rabbits bedding down for winter. Everything in her sings until her blood is racing, racing, racing through her veins in a song louder than the drums ringing in her bones. She starts to hum.
She's still humming by the time Morrighan finds her in the crowd. It feels like there are hornets in her chest, thousands of them, rubbing their wings together and begging for water. If she smiles, if there is any look on her face but one of hunger and recklessness, it nothing more than a flash of teeth (part welcome and part claiming). Her steps slow and turn. The chains across her rib-cage settle their wild song and pick up a new tune. It sounds like the smolder of fire, like kindling drying out in a spring copse. It sounds like--
It sounds like all the fury and wrath she can see waiting just below Morrighan's skin.
And oh she wants to let it loose, she wants to watch the entire world go up in flames. She turns to smile into Morrighan's hip and she drags her teeth along the curl of it. If there is a number of lines she must draw across the Warden she will discover it. With her nose she traces the pathway of Morrighan's spine, of her neck. She follows the hungry snake waiting underneath her form. “The trick is to almost let it carry you away, just enough that your lungs feel full of smoke and her heart feels like a lion beneath your skin.” Al'Zahra says the words right into her ear, knowing that if she doesn't move away that her chains will sing their song over and over again in that too-small space between their skin.
She laughs and it has nothing at all to do with humor. It has everything to do with fire, and dancing, and getting lost in the fury of both. “You go until you feel like you might die in the grasp of the music. And then,” Her eyes are flashing golden suns in her eyes when she pulls away. There are a hundred promises in that look of hers, a hundred secrets are arcane as the gods before the gods. It's feral, and starving and furious all at once. She inhales. She trembles.
She closes the distance in something that looks like the most graceful sort of desperation. It's a lovely gesture, horrifying but beautiful. “Then you start to slow.” The words form themselves into another sort of dance.
Or maybe they just sound like a prayer that the world will burn, burn, burn.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
There is something to the nature of the dance and the closeness of their bodies that makes Morrighan feel alive. Normally she'd threaten them all with her fire until they backed off, but all she can focus on is the fluttering in her chest and the heat coming off Al'Zahra's body. She twitches as the woman touches her and the fire ignites at her feet anyway. It sends some of the crowd away and the pair get many dirty looks, but she doesn't care.
A warmth spreads with each part of her body that the woman touches and it makes her want to feel more. Her head is spinning and her heart is racing. Al'Zahra's words in her ear are like honey and she can't get enough of it.
No one has ever made her feel this way before. There had been a time where she thought she loved someone, but she had been young and naive. Perhaps this time isn't all that different, but it certainly feels different. The fire within her can feel it too.
For a moment, Morrighan is lost in the woman's eyes and slowly follows her when she pulls away. She's been instructing the Warden the whole time, putting her under a sort of spell. She's been falling for it every step of the way and is almost drunk in it. Until their dances changes and something makes her heart catch in her throat.
What is she doing?
It's a feeling of panic. It's a realization that she's let herself be consumed by these emotions she doesn't even understand. She's made herself vulnerable in the worst way. What has she done?
Her fire is snuffed out and she runs. She can feel the pain of being torn away and it stings. She misses the warmth of the woman's skin against her's. Even as she pushes through the crowd in desperation, she can still smell the spices on her mane. It fills her nose like smoke and her head hurts.
She runs. She runs until her legs are tired, until she can feel something more than the ache in her chest.
The Illuminated
“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
The fire at Morrighan's hooves is nothing more than a ember to all the flames churning between the chambers of her heart. Every inch of her is aching to be made into smoke, and flame, and molten gold. Her hooves start to dance to the song of it, of how it feels to melt down into everything that promises a phoenix. Later she will call this dance a revelation, the way her body curls, and burns, and aches in the places where Morrighan and her touch.
Later, when she closes her eyes to dream, her bones will slumber in the memories of this religion between wild, wolfish hearts.
But for now there is only the coil of her singed hair spiraling up between them and the way it makes her inhale sharply. For now there is only the way that she feels as alive as she had in the beginning of time, the way her whole body wants to unmake and make. Her inhales are all sighs, and holy writ, and song when she presses them into all the furious war that is Morrighan. She wonders if the warden wants to unmake the world too.
She wonders if it's the burning or the ash that feels like freedom between their lips.
Al'Zahra is about to start singing to Morrighan when the mare pulls away and runs. All the words of fire, and smoke, and becoming die on her lips. They do not wither. She tucks them away, in the holes in her heart between the flames and the mortality.
She'll sing them to the sun when the morning starts to brush at the windows of her room. She'll dream of them as notes her hooves know how to sing. Later she'll wish Morrighan knew how to burn, how to really burn until there is nothing left but wind.
There is so much she will do later.
Tonight, there is only dancing to be found in the wake of Morrighan. Tonight there is only the hedonistic fury of the festival. So she throws herself into the pit of dancers and sings. She sings until her throat feels full of smoke, and her bones feel like magma beneath her skin with the heat of all the touches her flesh longs to know.
And she does not stop until she begins to dissolve into nothing but smoke and want.
credits